


My Best Friend's Keeper

by TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous/pseuds/TheAuthorWishesToRemainAnonymous
Summary: Tsukki's bad days are always painful to watch, because Yamaguchi knows that by the time Tsukki will admit to a bad day, he's already suffered through at least a bad week, possibly a bad month.





	My Best Friend's Keeper

Tsukki's bad days are always painful to watch, because Yamaguchi knows that by the time Tsukki will **admit** to a bad day, he's already suffered through at least a bad week, possibly a bad month. His best friend treats his emotions like a personal failing, something shameful and humiliating to express, so when he finally offers up the confession that he's _hurting_ , Yamaguchi knows damn well he's let that pain linger too long already, like a festering infection eating him up inside.

 

These admissions are usually unspoken. For all of his intelligence and sharp tongue, Tsukki is _terrible_ at talking about the feelings he insists he doesn't have. Instead, Yamaguchi has learnt over the years to read the subtle, quiet signals. An arm brushing against his, or a hand lingering a half-second too long on his back? In 'Tsukishima-speak', the little gestures are a cry for help. Long fingers intertwining with his own are a sure sign of distress. A blond head leaning in to rest briefly on his shoulder is a guarantee that Tsukki is absolutely **desperate**.

 

Today is a bad day. Its only lunchtime and Tsukki's already reaching for his hand as soon as they've retreated to a quiet corner. Eating by themselves is not in and of itself usual, because Tsukishima insists that too much noise and too many people make him lose his appetite. Yamaguchi's just happy not to have to spend mealtimes awkwardly on his own, so goes along with his finicky best friend's desire to separate from everyone else.

 

He can't ever really say so, because it would be cruel to embarrass Tsukki so much, but he's always been silently bemused by just how contradictory and _sensitive_ the other boy is. Despite his laconic, callous exterior, Tsukishima's a bit like a sheltered princess from a fairy tale, or a high-maintenance exotic pet. He absolutely loathes hot weather, but gets cold easily, spending half his time buried inside soft, oversized sweatshirts. He has a weakness for desserts, but flatly refuses to drink anything he deems 'too sweet'. He's painfully irritated by bright lights and loud noises, but keeps his headphones on for hours a day to drown out the rest of the sounds around him. He doesn't like to be touched, recoiling from most physical contact like he's been stung … but on bad days, he becomes downright **clingy**.

 

Yamaguchi had remarked on it once, putting Tsukki on the defensive as he struggled to explain and justify himself. He didn't like people invading his space, didn't like anyone touching him casually, carelessly. There was a _weight_ , a meaningfulness to touch, he insisted, and Yamaguchi was sure there were all kinds of issues with control and trust tied up in something Tsukishima apparently considered quite intimate. At the end of the day, he realised he was in an honoured, yet awkwardly difficult position, as the only person Tsukki willingly sought out touch from on a regular basis.

 

It was a heavy weight to keep on his shoulders, bearing the sole responsibility for meeting Tsukishima's needs. Because although he fought and resisted it, on the bad days, the days he _broke_ , Tsukki could be almost overwhelmingly needy. All the same, knowing he was the only person who could do this, who had been _**chosen** _ for this– that he was special and unique and so very important – Yamaguchi would be lying if he denied it was a powerful boost to his ego.

 

Which is why after making it through school and club activities, they'd gone straight to Yamaguchi's house and retreated to the bedroom. Since middle school, Tsukishima staying over had become commonplace – to the point that his best friend kept a toothbrush and a change of clothes in a backpack in the bottom of his closet for occasions just like this. Instead of starting their homework as usual, however, they'd made a beeline for the bed after quickly changing into their pyjamas, because with so little distance between them, Yamaguchi insisted on making it a completely relaxed and comfortable space. He stretched out on his back, and Tsukki pillowed his head on one freckled shoulder, as he allowed himself to be held.

 

Tsukishima was taller, but there was something horribly fragile about him when he got like this. As Yamaguchi let his hands move slow and steady across pale, soft skin and well-worn cotton, comforting, he mapped out shoulder-blades and ribs and hip-bones under the surface, too-delicate and too-human. The other boy clung onto him like he was drowning, absolutely **starved** for air, and Yamaguchi was the only life-line keeping him from slipping back into the deep. There was nothing romantic or sexual in their embrace, just a quiet, instinctive need for safety and acceptance and the need to be not-alone.

 

He let his hands move to the back of Tsukishima's head, running through short, fluffy blond hair. He'd learnt by heart all the places and ways to touch that would help calm and settle the other. Sometimes long, restless fingers would wander across his bare, freckled torso, tracing absent-minded constellations, and sometimes Tsukki would simply squeeze his eyes shut tight and wait for sleep to claim him. They never talked, because there was nothing to say; Yamaguchi half suspected and half knew that talking about the hurt, openly acknowledging it, might push Tsukishima to a level of emotional expression neither of them would be comfortable with. He felt selfish, but didn't think he'd be equipped to handle Tsukki crying in front of him.

 

He knew he was never going to be able to fix the problem at its root – Tsukishima **hated** himself, deeply and completely. The weight of so much self-loathing constantly tried to crush him, and he seemed absolutely incapable of finding any value in himself. Yamaguchi had come to accept the fact that was never going to be able to convince Tsukki otherwise. What he could do, however, was prove that he didn't care. No matter how worthless Tsukishima felt, he would always have a place where he belonged. There would never be a time he wasn't welcomed and wanted and unconditionally accepted at Yamaguchi's side, in spite of all his perceived failings. He could be ugly and broken, and still be loved.

 

Yamaguchi let his fingertips wander along the lines of blue veins under fair skin, like a mass of spiderweb cracks. His best friend had broken himself down, privately shattered into pieces in the dark before forcing himself back together again so many times over that he was a mosaic of mental/emotional fractures and scars. Tsukki was too ashamed for all that damage to be seen by anyone, so went out of his way to force people away, holding the entire world at arms' length. It was a testament to Yamaguchi's stubborn, persistent nature that since they'd met in middle school, he simply refused to be deterred. He'd made up his mind to be Tsukishima's friend, even when it was difficult. Tsukki used spiteful comments and sharp, sarcastic words like a suit of armour, so Yamaguchi had built up armour of his own, allowing the caustic barbs to deflect and roll off without cutting or stinging anymore.

 

He didn't know why or when the switch had flipped, if it had been a gradual, begrudging trust or an all-at-once realisation, but at some point, Tsukki had let him get close. Close enough that presently, those long limbs were wound around him as Tsukishima held him **tight**. It was a sadly familiar pattern by now; his best friend would deny himself any kind of contact or affection out of the sense he didn't deserve it, was unworthy of it, until he was driven to binge and gorge himself on Yamaguchi's proximity, latching on like a limpet in the secret confines of his best friend's room. He'd be like this for hours, probably until morning, when the armour would go back on. Inside it, Tsukki would already be poisoning himself with recrimination over having succumbed to weakness and impulse, letting the toxic thoughts grow like a cancer until they'd find themselves back here all over again.

 

Yamaguchi couldn't fix it and couldn't stop it. Sometimes he feared he was doing more harm than good by enabling Tsukishima's silent self-abuse like this. Nonetheless, he wasn't cruel enough to withhold the one thing Tsukki seemed to find solace in, even if it was only temporary. He'd set his alarm early in the morning; they could do their homework before school, because it was clear Tsukishima wasn't moving from the bed tonight.

 

Tsukki had tangled their legs together, laying half on-top, half-beside him on the mattress. Some of the tension finally seemed to be easing out of his embrace as Yamaguchi rubbed his shoulders and the small of his back until he felt the blond's breathing start to slow. Within a quarter of an hour, Tsukki had fallen asleep against him, and Yamaguchi hoped it would last until morning; odds were fifty-fifty that they'd repeat this process every couple of hours, if this was one of the nights Tsukishima had nightmares. It was too warm for the covers, with a Tsukki-shaped blanket draped across him, so Yamaguchi simply let his hands still and let the warm weight on his chest lull him to sleep as well.

 

 


End file.
